Bending over, Roberta fastened the garter belt to the nylons, readjusted her breasts back into the half-cut underwire bra, then shook her head. She was 56 years old, too old in her mind to be dressing up like this. Still, it was her husband's birthday and he got a charge out of seeing her this way. She stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. Though she'd put an extra 50lbs on her 5'6" frame since marriage, she still could be appealing. She smiled slightly and turned sideways to admire her own body, attired in nothing but nylons held up by a red garter belt, tight white nylon panties whose tightness accentuated the bubble shape of her expanded bottom, and an underwire bra which had difficulty in containing her 50+ inch bosom. Her breasts, which had been a "DD" cup when they married, were now barely contained by a double-'F' cup bra. Red high heeled shoes completed the outfit: her "gift" to her husband on his birthday. Suddenly she paused.
"Frank," she whispered. "I hear something."
"It's nothing," he groaned. "These old summer houses are constantly creaking and making all sorts of noises."
"I tell you I heard footsteps, downstairs," she insisted.
"And I tell you it's nothing. It's just your imagination."
"Frank Mathews," Roberta huffed. "In the 38 years we've been married, have I ever sent you on a wild goose chase, chasing imaginary sounds in the middle of the night?"
Slowly shaking his head, Frank threw back the blankets and climbed out of bed. As he continued shaking his head, he put on his robe, walked across the bedroom, and out the door. Roberta listened intently. Suddenly, she heard a loud crash. Roberta threw on her nightgown and hurried to the bedroom door. Frank was sprawled on the floor at the bottom of the stairway. It looked as if he had stumbled in the dark and fallen down the last few steps.
"Oh my God," she cried, rushing down the stairs.
She had just reached the landing when she saw a shadowy figure moving toward the bottom of the stairway. Panic stricken, she turned around and scrambled back up the steps. Instinctively, she ran to the phone. But, as she picked up the receiver, she remembered that the phones hadn't been connected yet. Frantically searching for something to defend herself with, she saw the shadowy figure step into the doorway.
":Stay away from me," she said, her voice shaking with fear.
Laughing, the man switched on the light. He looked to be about 30 years old, with a muscular built, and dark chiseled features. His icy blue eyes looked Roberta up and down, and he laughed, again.
"What are you going to do, scream? We're so far out in the sticks, no one would hear something even as loud as a gunshot," he said, pulling a pistol from his jacket pocket.
"I know you," Roberta said in astonishment. "You're Harry Cleeves. The one the police are looking for."
"That's right," he nodded. "And, you probably also know that I have already killed three people. So, if you don't want to be number four, you better behave."
Slowly, Roberta began to raise her hands. Harry laughed.
"There's no need for that," he said. "I'm sure you don't have a gun hidden in your nightie. If you did, you wouldn't have been running for the phone."
Clutching the opening to the top of her nightgown, Roberta asked, "What do you want?"
"Food," Harry said, motioning with the gun. "You're coming downstairs with me, and tying up the old man. Then you're going to fix me something to eat."
Once Frank was securely bound and gagged in the den, Harry followed Roberta into the kitchen area. As she prepared his meal, he grinned and slowly looked her up and down. Roberta pretended not to notice, but she had the uneasy feeling that he was undressing her with his eyes.
"Are those your?" he asked, pointing to Roberta's tennis trophies.
Nervously, she nodded her head. Harry smiled and moved closer. Picking up the plate of sandwiches, he said, "I guess that's why you don't look too bad for an old girl."
Something about Harry's smile unnerved Roberta. She tried to back away, but he had her cornered between the kitchen counters.
"Maybe when I get done eating, you and I can go back upstairs and get to know one another better," he said, suddenly reaching out and squeezing Roberta's crotch through the front of her nightgown. "You know what I mean?"
Roberta was too terrified to move. She just stood there, allowing him to fondle her.
"Oh, dear God no," she cried, covering her face with her hands. "Please don't. Take anything else you want and go. PLEASE."
"Oh, I'm going to take what I want. But, I am also going to give you something in return---a couple loads of cum," he chuckled. "Now, give me a peek at what you've got. Take your robe off."
Releasing her, Harry sat down at the small table at the other end of the kitchen and began nonchalantly eating. Roberta considered making a run for it. But, where would she go? The table sat directly in front of the open end of the narrow kitchen nook. Her only route-other than climbing over the bar-was blocked. Moving to the opposite corner of the closed end of the nook, she clutched the top of her nightgown.
Between bites of his sandwich, Harry smiled at Roberta.
"I asked you to remove your robe, lover," he said in a pseudo-romantic voice. "Do you want me to remove it for you?"
Roberta moved back to where she had been. She felt like a caged animal.
"If you want to play 'hard-to-get', it's okay with me," Harry said, placing his half eaten sandwich on the plate. "The robe is coming off. If I have to rough you up a little, that's okay too."
Roberta stalled as long as she dared. Then, opening her nightgown, she pulled it off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
"Very nice," Harry grinned, "I was going to make you strip all the way down. Now, I think I'll let you keep that cute little outfit on. Your marriage must still have a little spark in it. Am I going to get the old boy's sloppy seconds?"
As tears welled up in Roberta's eyes, Harry picked up his sandwich and continued eating. With his index finger, he motioned for her to come closer.
Taking short, halting steps, Roberta slowly closed the distance between them. When she was close enough, Harry slid his hand up one nylon covered leg, and gently stroked the front of her panties with the back of his finger.
"Did you get fucking tonight?" he asked, letting the irritation he felt, due to her previous lack of response, show in his voice.
Harry's touch caused Roberta to gasp. She still didn't want to answer, but was too scared to refuse. Sniffling, she shook her head and said, "No."
Harry withdrew his hand, and gulped down the last of his sandwich. Standing up, he took Roberta by the hand and said, "Okay, lover, let's go."
Roberta pulled her hand free, and backed away.
